pointed nose on warm red fur
scent of the sun and the earth
a dry den dug into the hillside
But spring is here.
Wake up, foxes!
Run and jump upon my memory.
Wake me up, foxes.
And under a painted sky
blinking first stars
I will find all that I lost
in a wet meadow somewhere north
under the sky of purity.
The taste of the Real
still on my tongue.
Awake.
~Becky Robbins
